


A Study In Irritation

by Originalpuck



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Challenge Response, Community: ninth_eagle, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pawn Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Originalpuck/pseuds/Originalpuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liathan owns a high-end pawn shop, and Placidus keeps stopping by, seemingly just to irritate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Irritation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Fanmedia Challenge: Round One, for the [first picture of the green drum.](http://i1181.photobucket.com/albums/x424/riventhorn/Eagle/drum.jpg) Many thanks to [Riventhorn](http://riventhorn.livejournal.com/profile) for the great beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

 

The fourth time Servius Placidus came into his pawn shop, Liathan decided it was finally time to give the guy a piece of his mind. Not that he hadn't wanted to before, but he was a busy man with more than enough to occupy him. Unlike certain politician’s sons who apparently had nothing better to do with their time than wander around pawn shops in figure-flattering suits.

Admitting Servius was attractive was simply an objective observation on his part. Or so he told himself.

*

The first time Servius Placidus darkened the doorway, it was because a tall, dark-haired guy was dragging him along. It wasn't hard to recognize Servius; he was dressed in the exact same suit he'd worn when introducing his father during a campaign stop where Senator Placidus had said, among other things, that gays should be locked away for their obvious mental deficiencies. Afterwards, during a news segment, Liathan had caught Servius explaining how his father's policies were good for America, and had decided that the whole family could go rot in the farthest level of hell.

But instead of burning alive, Servius was right there, in Liathan's shop. His companion seemed fascinated with an eagle statue from the Victorian era, but Servius yawned his way through the store, not even bothering to poke or prod the sizable collection of antiques that the Prince's had managed to accumulate. Not that Liathan was staring at him or anything. He’d just happened to take a few glances while helping a polite old woman with some of their fancier watches—“for my husband, dear, you understand, always running late, thought it might be a kinder way of getting him to places when asked. It was this or kicking him right in the rear end.”

It ended up being Esca who helped them out, which was probably for the best. Liathan might've said something right then and there: homophobic politicians and their spawn that seemed hellbent on following them into the political arena weren't welcome in his shop. Instead the elderly lady picked out a wonderful timepiece for her husband, the brunette—named Marcus, according to Esca—purchased the statue for a decent price, and, judging by Servius Placidus's complete lack of interest in their inventory, Liathan would likely never be seeing him again.

**

The second time that Servius had come into Liathan's shop, he'd been dressed to the nines. A dark, form-hugging suit that was clearly tailored to emphasize his attributes—not that Liathan had been looking—was not what people usually wore when they came into the shop. Hell, it looked like something Liathan would wear to a wedding, or some other sort of major, once-in-a-lifetime event.

But he figured that for Servius, it was probably just something that the guy had thrown on for a press conference. He’d probably been defending his father's latest attempt to pass some bullshit legislation or attempting to propose some fucked up shit of his own and wanted to look _impressive_.

Having a rich politician’s son come to the shop once had surprised Liathan, but wasn't entirely unheard of–the Prince's Pawn Shop had made a name for themselves after they'd gotten into selling higher-end merchandise alongside the same shit that hungry college kids pawned off for petty cash.

Coming in a second time, though, made no sense. Everyone knew just how much money the Placidus's were swimming in—and how they felt about people who earned less than a quarter of a million per year—so it wasn't likely that he was there to pawn anything. And by the bored way he poked and prodded at everything, Liathan doubted he would be buying a nice antique anytime soon, either.

Liathan stared at him from the backroom and then started to move towards Placidus. That painting he'd just nudged was worth at least one thousand, and while that might not be much to Servius, it certainly was enough to be the last straw for Liathan. “Don't touch that,” he snapped.

But before he could get around the long glass case that they kept in front to separate some of their items from people with itchy fingers, Placidus had looked up at him, caught his eye, and quirked his lips in something that could be called either a smirk or a smile. He inclined his head, and then walked out of the store.

Liathan cursed under his breath at the man's backside, which, he had to admit, looked damned good in that suit. Too bad it was attached to such a fuckwit.

***

It was the same the next time Placidus came in, only this time he was sans the suit-coat. He peered around, focusing his attention on the section devoted to musical instruments. Esca was on the floor, and had come up to him—to inquire if he needed help or maybe to ask about that man named Marcus that had left his phone number on his receipt when he'd checked out a few days ago—but Placidus brushed him off with a few words that had Esca's face tightening.

But again, before Liathan could untangle himself from the customer he was dealing with, Placidus had shot a funny little smile in his direction and made a quick exit. When he got the chance, Liathan grabbed Esca's arm. “What'd he say to you?”

“Asked about you.” Esca rolled his eyes. “Don't worry about it. I told him that you'd rather kiss a donkey than have a conversation with him.” No matter how much Liathan pressed, Esca wouldn't say anything more on the topic, and Liathan spent the remaining hour of his shift fuming.

Still, that _had_ to be the end of things. Whatever game Placidus had been playing was over now that Esca had shot him down. Not that the homophobe could possibly have been _interested_ in him and definitely not like Liathan was interested back. He didn't date assholes, and no matter what Esca said, his last four boyfriends most definitely did _not_ count.

****

Liathan had just left his younger brother to keep an eye on customers and clocked out for lunch when Servius showed up for the first time in four days. He'd been gone longer than any of the other times, and Liathan had assumed that he wouldn’t show up again. And really, since he was just a nuisance and distraction, Liathan had been glad to be rid of him.

Since most people were too busy hitting up the local restaurants during lunch to go shopping, Servius Placidus was one of only two customers in the store at the moment, and easy as fuck to pick out with his dress pants and button-down. Once again he went straight to the instruments, but this time he bent over a drum set that was older than both of them, and a hideous shade of lime green.

His eyes were vibrant and his lips were quirked in the same half-smirk, half-smile that he gave Liathan every time he saw him. He was examining the drums with a level of interest that Liathan had only ever seen on his face when on his father's campaign trail. And even then it was different—less tightness at his jaw, his smile vague and not the all-teeth one that Liathan had come to associate with Servius and all other bullshit politicians.

Liathan still didn't want him in his shop, but he had decided that maybe ignoring him was the best way to go about things. Besides, he knew his younger brother would tell his dad all about Liathan 'scaring away a customer' or some such bullshit if he dared to speak his mind. And while it was technically Liathan's store ever since his dad “retired,” that didn't mean that his father wasn't still hanging over his shoulder, scrutinizing every decision Liathan made.

So he clenched his fists, and bit back his desire to kick the guy out on his ass. Instead he grabbed a coffee from their shitty machine in the back and returned to sit behind the counter with a paperback. It wasn't one he was interested in, but it made it easy for him to watch the bastard without looking like he was doing it. Or so he'd thought.

“How much for the drums?” Servius's voice rang out through the store, despite the fact that he was kneeling beside the drums in question. If he hadn’t been staring straight at Liathan, maybe his brother would've handled it. Maybe Liathan could have ignored the tone he'd taken, as if he had every right to all of Liathan's time.

“Price tags exist for a reason,” Liathan responded, forcing his eyes back to his book. “And I'm on break. Barter with my brother if you want to, but I don't think your type is likely to get a lower price from us.”

“My type?” Servius's voice was all business now, the same sound that Liathan had heard on media clips on the net. “And I'd love to look at the price tag. But this item doesn't have one.”

Now, Liathan had just put those drums out on the floor himself that morning. And ever since a debacle with an art deco clock, he'd _always_ triple-checked that he'd tagged things. “Bullshit.” He got up from his spot, dragging his coffee with him, and was there within seconds, on his knees, searching for the tag he'd known was there.

If he happened to be kneeling inches away from Servius, well, Liathan attributed the warmth from where their legs were touching to his general annoyance. “And yeah, your type: homophobes.” He found the price tag and ducked back from under the set to shove it triumphantly in Servius's face. “The price.”

He gestured towards the drums. “Why do you want them, anyways?”

Servius's eyes darkened, and he made no move to take the piece of paper from Liathan. “Why does it matter?”

“Curiosity.” Liathan paused. “It's not like drums—or any instrument—make for great political chit-chat on the campaign trail.”

“Bill Clinton played the saxophone,” Servius said. “And, in case you need reminding, he became president. Twice.”

“He was a Democrat. And impeached,” Liathan countered.

Servius's lips twitched, just a little. “Which had nothing to do with his musical tastes.”

“No, just his sex life.” Liathan took a sip of his coffee, which had been set to the side. He was well aware of the fact that his cup had 'I Love Men' written on it in bright, rainbow colors. “Not like an upstanding citizen like you would have to worry about _that_. We all know your views on sexuality.”

“He was impeached for lying. And you know my _father's_ views,” Servius corrected. His voice was low, but formal. He stared at the drums, instead of looking at Liathan. “I don't believe I've offered any of my own.”

“You support your dad, which shows exactly which side you're on,” Liathan snapped. His eyebrow was raised. “You've been there for nearly all of his homophobic statements.”

“Nearly all,” Servius repeated, faintly. He reached out and ran his fingers over the drums. “I used to play when I was a teenager. I was involved with a local band, and everything.”

Liathan practically snorted his coffee straight out of his nose. “With _your_ father? He doesn't seem like the type to let you rock out the garage.”

“Yes, well, I quit for a reason. It's been years since I've played.” He paused, and brought his eyes to Liathan's. “But I've decided to take a break from father's re-election campaign for a bit, and so I figured that it was time for a change. And these drums happen to be my favorite color.”

Liathan took a second to process this. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: Servius taking a break from his father's campaigning, or the fact that he didn't want the drums because they'd belonged to a member of a famous rock band, or because they were antiques, but because he actually _liked_ their hideous shade of bright green. “Why?”

“Why what?” Servius's voice was low, and his eyes stared Liathan down. Daring him to ask. Liathan never turned down a dare. He inched his face closer, their lips so close they were breathing each others air.

“Why the fuck is that your favorite color?” Servius opened his mouth to respond, but Liathan wasn't done. “And why are you leaving your father's campaign? I thought you'd stay with him until his re-election, at least.”

“He's my father, so I've done my best to live up to his expectations. If that meant supporting his campaign, than I was willing to do so. And starting one of my own, well, that seemed like the next step.” He shrugged, a barely perceptible lift of his shoulders. “But in-between my thoughts and actions are my own.” He licked his lips and snatched the price tag from Liathan's lowered hand.

“You're still not getting a cheaper price,” Liathan said. If his voice had gone a bit breathy at how close they were, at the way he'd made Servius break the 'perfect politician' mold, well, it still didn't mean the guy would get a discount.

“That's fine. I'll do what it takes to get what I want.” Servius's eyes slipped from Liathan's eyes to his lips and back. “And I always get what I want.”

Maybe it was the blatant cockiness, but Liathan turned away seconds before their lips might've touched. “I'm not that easy to seduce.” He tried his best to give a smirking smile back at him. “You can pay at the counter. I'm still on break.”

Yeah, okay, Servius Placidus might damn well always get what he was hunting for, but Liathan would make him work for it. Still, he looked forward to seeing Servius come back later to pick up the drums, and this time he scrawled _his_ number on the receipt— “In case you decide you don’t want the drums after all.”

Placidus took it from him and deliberately let his fingers linger on Liathan’s. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” 


End file.
